Observances
by LunarianPrincess
Summary: A series of moments, inspired by a selection of random songs. Not everything in life can be broken down and observed.


Author: LunarianPrincess

Title: Observances

Writing Exercise/ iTunes Shuffle Meme, Put iTunes on shuffle, write for the length of the song then stop. Whatever song, whatever length.

Fandom: BBC's Sherlock

Pairing: Sherlolly

Warnings: Some of these will be AU some will be post-Reichenbach and some will be just crack-y and OOC…you've been warned.

**I - I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I – I O I - I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I - I O I- I O I - I**

**1. Out Tonight - RENT Soundtrack**

"**Let's go out tonight. I have to go out tonight. You wanna prowl Be my night owl? Well take my hand we're gonna howl out tonight"**

Molly followed her old school friend. Weaving between people and trying to keep the trepidation of her face. She had heard from Meghann on her blog, an old friend getting in touch to have a night of fun while she was in the 'big city.' Molly had been determined not to be thought of as the same dowdy girl as in uni so she'd 'gussied herself up' as her mum had always begged her. She'd been so desperate to prove she wasn't a spinster, the undesirable pathologist who was the subject of everyone's pity. So here she was, well past midnight in a notorious club in the 'bad' side of town, wearing something her colleagues would consider most indecent. She peeked down at the shimmery halter top, and indeterminate shade of green that complimented her hazel eyes, the metallic miniskirt a scrap of fabric on her hips that barely maintained her modesty.

She couldn't know that the low drop of the halter accentuated her usually small looking breasts, didn't know that it revealed the most delicious stretch of smooth skin on her back, couldn't tell that her legs were completely delectable beneath the metallic fabric, enhanced by the height of her completely impractical shoes. But all of these things were observed, catalogued, and evaluated. She felt proprietary hands grip her hips, pulling her back against a surprisingly warm body. Incensed she turned to give this git a piece of her mind when the purple fabric directly in front of her face stalled her voice in her throat. She was shocked to look up and see those familiar mercurial eyes. She didn't question how he'd found her, didn't wonder how he'd gotten in, or why he was initiating contact. "Case, come now" the words were growled, the deep timbre cutting through the pounding beat and incessant murmur of the crowd. She could only nod as he dragged her away from her protesting friend, all the while wondering if it was the dim light that caused Sherlock's pupils to be just the slightest bit wider, or perhaps something else.

**2. Vanilla Twilight - Owl City **

"**But it's not the same without you because it takes two to whisper quietly The silence isn't so bad till I look at my hands and feel sad**

**Cause the spaces between my fingers are right where yours fit perfectly. I'll find repose in new ways, Though I haven't slept in two days"**

Sherlock blinked at the slowly emerging pink dawn, eyes focused on the darker blurs that moved through the foliage yards away. The air was warm and humid, he could feel the moisture clinging to his hair, the heat causing perspiration to bloom throughout his body, mostly centered around his apocrine glands. He watched as the small group on men advanced on the small hut. He watched silently, analyzing his sudden need to verbalize. He halted himself, knowing that there was no one to hear him, other than the subject of his observance. How he wished for the smaller blond man, he could hardly think of the diminutive brunette. The one who had risked everything, the one who knew, the one who saw, the one who counted.

His hand clenched, avoiding the thought that her delicate and dexterous fingers were just small enough to fit within the spaces of his own without causing undue comfort, regardless of duration. That he was even contemplating physical contact was just a sign of how much he missed showing off, receiving praise, being the subject of adoration and accolades. It said nothing about his own succumb to sentiment, he imagined his weakness was due to the increased amount of time he'd spent awake, despite the brief half-hour repose 2 nights ago, he hadn't slept in over 8 days. That must be the reason he was desperate to see those perpetually dilated hazel eyes.

**3. Stuck - Stacie Orrico**

"**I can't get out of bed today or get you off my mind. I just can't seem to find a way to leave the love behind."**

Molly stared at the popcorn ceiling, her eyes blurring with each blink, her gritty eyelids scraping together then opening. It had been a week, one horrible week, since he'd left. Walked out of her flat and hadn't returned, no note, no text, no comment. Her head felt full of cotton and bees, buzzing in a muted way. She just kept flashing on moments that had happened over the past nine months. Sherlock's face when she left for the funeral, Sherlock's face as she cried from stupid show on the telly, Sherlock's face on the last day she'd seen him. Those ice chips that passed for eyes, that beautiful sculpted face of his, the riot of curls that had been just a bit longer than when he'd first come to stay with her.

She snapped herself out of it, 'stop being pathetic' she thought. Swinging her feet down to the low pile carpet she reached out for her mobile she quickly pulled up the desired contact. A quick conversation later she was in her kitchen in her pajamas preparing her tea and breaking out the large slab of fudge from the freezer. She was going to have a good wallow then forget about him. She tried to ignore the way her gaze kept catching on her phone, the way she'd freeze then perk up anytime she heard a sound in the hallway.

After 3 hours she finally started to ignore the hallway noise, and she could no longer see her phone after she'd angrily thrown it in her bedroom in a fit of pique from a dramatic moment in one of her favorite movies. BAM. The sound startled her into dropping her tea in her lap. Her gasp was mingled shock and pain. She stood quickly and there was another bang. She turned towards the door completely bewildered. And then his voice, his voice, the one she'd been waiting to hear. "Molly…"

**4. Let's Do It - Alanis Morissette (De-Lovely)**

"**In shallow shoals English soles do it. Goldfish in the privacy of bowls do it. Let's do it, let's fall in love!"**

Molly stood in the arms of her partner, desperately trying to keep from cringing in the center of the room waiting as the instruction began again. She gnawed her bottom lip as her partner ignored her and telegraphed his boredom. She huffed a sigh at the instructor criticized her form yet again. Her shoulders too tense, her back not straight enough, her hips not loose enough, her footwork atrocious. She wondered what had ever possessed Nancy to buy these lessons for her birthday. True Molly had been lamenting her horrid lack of dance ability and dreamily wishing for dance lessons. But Nancy hadn't known that she was only dreaming about those lessons if she was in the arms of a singular person, the world's only consulting detective.

Rolling her eyes now, she ignored the buzzbuzzchime of her phone from her purse across the floor. Most likely someone for work wanting her to come in late to cover a shift, she ignored it and continued to dance. She swung away from her partner, nearly cursing as her ankle rolled and her partner's indifferent grip did little to keep her on her feet. The thud as she hit the ground caused a couple of titters. Gritting her teeth she stood and took the position again, completely ignoring the now persistent buzzing of her phone and falling back into the questionable quickstep rhythm. She spun out again finally enjoying the swell of the music and when her partner let go of her hand again she had to resist the uncharacteristic urge to curse.

She straightened her spine and spun on her heel to let her ridiculous partner get a piece of her mind, when she was firmly pulled into a pair of unfamiliar arms wearing a black shirt and a very familiar purple shirt. She gasped in shock and stared, bug eyed, at the tall man with mercurial eyes and black curls. He glowered down at her as he led her fluidly through the dance. "You did not answer your phone, Molly Hooper, this dance class is interfering in my case, and your partner is atrocious" These words were delivered in a deep rumble that sent a shiver through her, she just followed him wordlessly. Astonished when the music stopped and the instructor exclaimed over her miraculous improvement, she wordlessly followed him out as he grabbed her purse and herded her to the door.

**5. My Boy Builds Coffins - Florence + The Machine**

"**My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor. Kings and queens have all knocked on his door Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves. They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please"**

Molly stared as Sherlock texted Lestrade the solution, yet again. Putting another nail in the coffin, as they say. He was so good ensuring that criminals got their comeuppance. Molly couldn't imagine having a mind that enabled her to view everyone at the same level, their social standing, appearance, or bank account having no effect on her thoughts of them. Sherlock grabbed his coat off the back of the chair at her work station before stalking away. Sometimes she wondered why she thought so highly of this man, this man who dealt convictions and death so easily. She shuddered as she imagined those cold blue eyes pinning her if she ever did one of the heinous things that always got his attention. Was it sick of her to want to commit a crime just to gain his undivided attention, most definitely. But her fantasies were hers, and she let her mind wander as she opened a door and slid a new body on the slab.

**6. Haven't Met You Yet - Michael Buble**

"**I'm not surprised, not everything lasts. I've broken my heart so many times I stopped keeping track. Talk myself in, I talk myself out. I get all worked up then I let myself down"**

Molly hummed a tuneless song as she moved through the flat. Dusting this, moving piles of clutter that has accumulated in her little spat of melancholy. Finally she was clearing everything away, finally after the many months. Discarded latex gloves, stretched by his hands, the odd ashtray full of discarded cigarette butts, pipettes, slides, phials, all got swept into the bin with a sweep of her arm. She was so over having a broken heart all the time, had been living like a ghost for over a year. Sherlock had finally left, his brother clearing him for travel, she'd had a good, long wallow, sinking into a depression and letting her ties to the world begin to fade. But finally she'd woken up and decided that she wouldn't let him rule her life anymore, especially not from afar.

She thought about her relationship with the mercurial consulting detective, identifying each instance where she had talked herself into believing that he really did care beneath that veneer of disdain and obliviousness. And then when he'd finally come to her for her help, she'd gotten so worked up with the idea that he was finally acknowledging his attraction to her. Only to be heartbroken when he'd really only needed her for all that she could provide him, the chemicals, the medical supplies, and unobtrusive and hardly expected hiding place, and the expertise to fake an autopsy.

Shrugging she gave Toby a pat before spritzing some cleanser on the kitchen table. She was so caught up in scrubbing the scorch marks and humming her tuneless song she missed the first knock on the door. The second caused her to look up, blowing a puff of air through her pursed lips to displace a tendril of hair that draped in front of her left eye. Her hair was much shorter now, easier to manage, and it leant an air of maturity to her pixie face. Wiping her brow with the back of her right wrist she dropped her rag and tried to straighten her oversized shirt while tugging down the jean shorts that had ridden up. she gave the door a puzzled look when the person knocked a third time.

"Coming!" Molly finally called, just before unlocking the door and swinging it wide. Her heart dropped to her toes when she saw the man on the other side of the door. "Sherlock?!" her whispered statement cause him to plant his hand between her collarbones and firmly push her into her flat. Her eyes went wide as he slammed the door closed and she barely had time to note the bruise on his chin and the slight split of his upper lip before she was tasting the lingering traces of blood on his lips as he pressed his lips firmly against hers.

**7. Sweet As Whole - Sara Bareilles**

**The whole damn fucking song. Seriously.**

Molly stared at the song that had been sent to her on spotify. Staring at the empty morgue, then glancing at the clock, still to early for him to show up. She curiously hit play, smiling as the beautiful piano melody filled the morgue. She slowly walked over to put on her gloves. Gripping the scalpel as the lyrical voice hovered above the piano's tones. She paused and listened to the lyrics. Starting to identify she turned back to the computer, loving the humorous descent into vitriol. She laughed as she heard the line about "But that only happens when I get provoked by some piece of shit asshole we all sadly know" and immediately knew why Mary had sent the song to her.

She thought back to the last time Sherlock had pissed her off and she'd spent the whole night spouting hate for the man she loved. She'd truly ruined poor Lily's hen night. Laughing fondly, she dropped the scalpel and strode back to the computer, letting the beat dictate her stride, a sort of hop-stride-step which wasn't quite yet a waltz. She put the song on repeat. Slicing through the corpse and continuing her work along to the beat, eventually she was shouting out along with the singer "FUCK THAT GUY HE'S JUST AN ASSHOLE," grateful for her odd hours which ensured the morgue was empty. She let each hurtful moment Sherlock had ever dealt her out with the belted lines. She was so engrossed that she missed the actual knocking when a series of knocks sounded in the song.

She continued swaying, letting her voice rise on each chorus, not yet knowing the verses. She spun triumphantly, loving the vicarious hatred flow out of her... She froze staring at the body. Her eyes widened but not from seeing the cadaver's open chest cavity. The only thing she could see was Sherlock's face, his pale face topped by those fascinating dark curls. His pale, mercurial eyes just the slightest bit wider, his left eyebrow cocked just so, and his mouth, not open, but just the littlest bit slack, not pursed as usual. "What do you want?" Her acerbic tone was underscored by the final phrase of the chorale. "Sing it out with me, and just let it go. Fuck that guy he's just an asshole." She turned to the computer, pausing the beginning strains of the piano as the song begun again, before facing the door again. She felt a tingle of righteousness and was pleased to see Sherlock speechless for once.

**8. Smooth - Santana ft. Rob Thomas**

"**I hear you whisper and the words melt everyone but you stay so cool. You're my reason for reason. The step in my groove. And if you say this life ain't good enough. I would give my world to lift you up, I could change my life to better suit your mood. Cause you're so smooth"**

Molly squealed at the band from her spot at a high table near the back of the bar, where her friend Lisa had installed them when they'd arrived. She had been dragged out tonight by her friend Lisa to the performance of Nate Trivers and the Hatters, her friends favorite band, she'd called out of work to be able to come but despite her initial misgiving and the disappointment that came from knowing she wouldn't see Sherlock this night, she was having a blast. But her enjoyment was cut short when her phone, shoved into the bra she didn't quite fill out, started to vibrate against her skin. She let out an embarrassed giggle before fishing in her top, borrowed especially for this night from Lisa's roommate Rochanna.

She felt herself begin to deflate from her fun induced high when she saw the simple text alert. "Murder. Two victims. New pathologist C. Jorgenson not sufficient. Barts at 10pm. -SH" Molly frowned at the text, sure the new morgue attendant wasn't a doctor, but as a pathologist he was quite adequate, and for once Molly was enjoying herself, but she couldn't deny the thrill she'd gotten when she'd seen who the text was from. She looked up and saw Lisa's eyes narrow at her phone. Molly wavered in a moment of indecision before picking up the sparkly blue clutch and smiling apologetically at Lisa. Lisa effected a pout, but she'd known before they went out that work might call Molly away. They exchanged a brief hug before Molly wended her way through the bar and out onto the street to hail a cab to Bart's.

A few minutes later she strolled in to the morgue, her heeled boots making a staccato echo that sent a little thrill through Molly, perhaps she should wear heels more often. Sensible, practical heels, but heels that made her diminutive presence a bit more noticeable. She pushed through the swinging doors to find Sherlock sternly lecturing the unfortunate Cam, who cowered before Sherlock's impressive stature. Molly was surprised Cam hadn't melted under what looked like Sherlock's stern whisper, and she felt an urge to protect the poor new pathologist who hadn't adjusted to Sherlock's ways.

"Sherlock!" Molly's voice came out in a stern rebuke that she hadn't expected. She'd merely meant to draw his attention away and get this over with so she could go home to change. She waited for his customary deduction, glorying in the slight surprise in his eyes over her uncustomary attire, knowing he'd see where she scuffed her boots when she tripped out of the taxi, where her lipstick was smudged from the straw she'd been using at the bar, the fact that the shirt wasn't hers from the stretching fabric in the bust and the way it gaped at the hips, but Molly found herself uncaring about his conclusion, she felt right sexy for once. Molly's attention was drawn away from Sherlock by Cam's awkward fidgeting, fighting between the urge to flee and the need to remain with the bodies. "You're fine to leave Cameron, I've clocked in." Molly nearly giggled at the man's relief as he practically ran from the consulting detective.

"Molly." Sherlock had merely said her name, but voice held a tone of relief and Molly had to resist the urge to melt, for a completely different reason that Cam, as his sexy near-whisper reverberated in her ears. She swiped her white coat from her desk and moved towards the slab he was standing over, trying to ignore the way Sherlock's eyes followed her movements, and praying that he couldn't see the way her nipples were pebbled, how her throat tightened as she swallowed, the way her hips swiveled, but she knew he picked up on all these and more.

**9. Unusual Way – Linda Eder**

"**In a very unusual way, you were my friend. Maybe it lasted a day, Maybe it lasted an hour, But somehow it will never end."**

Sherlock sat in the silence, listening to the now familiar sounds of Molly Hooper packing up to leave for the day. It had been 9 days 13 hours 8 minutes and 42 seconds since he'd been in her flat, completely incapable of leaving for the next 21 days 6 hours 11 minutes and 18 seconds. He contemplated the change that had slowly come over Miss Hooper. She no longer was the timid mouse that she had been around him in the morgue. Apparently prolonged exposure had enabled her to become acclimatized and dismissive of his presence. He found her quite a bit less annoying now, had deduced nearly everything about her and yet he was constantly evaluating things for new data. Small changes in routine, how they affected her, how his attention made her, even now, the slightest bit hyperaware.

His obsession with her was easily explained away by his boredom and the confined quarters. But sometimes he would remember the feeling that had come over him when she had said "what do you need?" in that desperately breathless voice, and then the second time even after he had confessed his dreadful failing, his fallibility, his weakness. In that moment he had seen for himself the devotion of a friend. His warm feelings toward her had lasted an hour at most, but even now it surprised him, that in that moment she was granted a full room of his mind palace, as opposed to the small corner of the room Bart's held.

**10. The Way You Loved Me - Faith Hill**

"**It's not right, It's not fair. What you're missing over there. Someday I'll find a way to show you, just how lucky I am to know you"**

Sherlock stared at the group huddled around the grave. He had long since deduced each persons morning. Now he stood just looking, trying to analyze the sentiment present, something that was infinitely more difficult than just figuring out what they'd eaten, or how they'd spent the hours before the funeral. He was most shocked by Molly, who wept unashamedly, despite knowing that he was in fact alive, and supposed to be hidden at her flat. He had thought it might have been artifice, for the fact that in all the time he'd known Molly she had been unable to even passably hide her feelings.

Molly's face was tracked with tears and the shudder of her shoulders indicated that she was sobbing, her tiny chest trembling with the force of her sorrow. He watched as Mrs. Hudson embraced the girl, ignoring a pang in his lower left chest cavity, dismissed as a result of the indrawn cold air, then watched as John patted them both on the shoulders before he was engulfed by their embrace. Mrs. Hudson stepped away, speaking quietly with the mortuary representative before heading to the car hired to bring her to the funeral. His eye was drawn back to wear John held Molly tenderly, John's face reflecting the pain on Molly's and he watched as Molly's fist tightened on John's lapel.

Sentiment. Pure sentiment. From the three people he'd 'died' to save. He watched as they mourned him, surprised by the depth of feeling displayed. He'd always imagined that as a result of his inability to make deep personal relationships that others would be hampered from developing lasting sentiment on his behalf, it was always startling to find that wasn't the case. First at Christmas with Molly's carefully chosen gift and the associated deductions he'd conducted, believing them to be on some other bloke's behalf. And now, seeing his friends, he would call them this now, broken on his behalf.

He vowed to make them see that he appreciated their sentiment, that the love they felt was appreciated, that though they missed the returning emotion, they would know that their sentiment made him a lucky man. Especially Molly, who was sacrificing and risking so much to keep him safe. She was the one who needed to know how much she counted, that he'd never told her because he thought she'd always known.

**BONUS TRACK : A Little Bit Stronger – Sara Evans**

"**Woke up late today, and I still feel the sting of the pain. But I brushed my teeth anyway, got dressed through the mess and put a smile on my face. I got a little bit stronger."**

Molly rolled over and blinked at her alarm clock. Surprisingly it was 15 minutes after she was supposed to be heading into Bart's. She shot out of bed, peeling off her sweat soaked t-shirt, jumping into the shower she just turned the faucet on, letting out a yelp as the frigid liquid pounded against her back. She swiped at her body with the pouf slathered in cream body wash. Making sure the last of the suds were washed away she hopped out and dried herself off as she brushed her teeth, before ran into the bedroom to grab a pair of chocolate trousers and a navy sweater, throwing undergarments on before pulling herself into the clothes.

She barely even glances at the scarf hung on the hook by the door as she rushes out the door. She dashes through the street and hops on the tube, barely gasping when she bumps into a strangely familiar tall bloke with dark curls, at her second glance it's a stranger and she realized that her heart didn't leap as high as it had the last time. she lets a smile grace her face as she thinks about how she's gone 3 days without her heart leaping at a suspected sighting, 5 days since she pulled his scarf around her neck and tried to find remnants of his scent, and 2 whole weeks since she pulled up her Sherlock folder (full of articles and photos) on the computer.

Molly felt strong, well not strong enough, but stronger. Finally able to deal with the every day. It hadn't been a short recovery, it had been months since Sherlock had spent the night at her apartment, ages since she'd snuck over to 221b to console John and steal the navy scarf, and weeks since the last mention of Sherlock in the press. She wondered if she'd ever get over her feelings for the consulting detective, be able to move on and cultivate a normal relationship, part of her desperately wanted the companionship and affection a normal relationship could offer, and the other part of her hungered for the high functioning sociopath who'd invaded her life.

**I - I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I – I O I - I O I - I O I - I O I- I O I - I O I- I O I - I**

Please read and review! Let me know if I should leave these as one shots or if you think I should expand on any of them. Btw: around song 6 I started to break the rules and finish the thoughts I was writing, it was impossible to let the stories go. -LP


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